


Leisurely

by Just_As_Sane



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/F, Ron Weasley Bashing, Slow Burn, just a little
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:40:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21734659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Just_As_Sane/pseuds/Just_As_Sane
Summary: "I fell in love the way you fall asleep: slowly, and then all at once." - John GreenIn which a post-war Narcissa and Hermione meet and become friends.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Narcissa Black Malfoy
Comments: 20
Kudos: 253





	Leisurely

**Author's Note:**

> My first Cissamione! I'm very excited for this because I absolutely adore this ship, so I really hope you all enjoy!

“Miss Granger.” 

An unfamiliar voice from the doorway of her office announces itself.

“Madame Malfoy, what can the D.M.L.E. do for you today?”

She’s standing behind her desk, and makes no move to offer the open seat that sits unoccupied most days across from her. 

“Black, actually. The divorce was finalized this week.”

Something about that eases the nerves that had balled up in her stomach.

“My apologies,” she stretches her hand out in invitation for the older woman to sit down. It hits her, as the blonde delicately lowers herself into the uncomfortable ministry provided chair, that she’s never actually seen Narcissa Mal- _Black_ sitting, it seems almost too commonplace for the woman. 

She moves to sit in her own chair, “What can the department help you with today?”

She watches as the blondes face contorts briefly before she speaks, “I was actually, quite hoping really, that I might speak with you about a personal matter.”

Somewhere in the distance Hermione hears a high pitched ringing, “A personal matter?”

“Yes, though I acknowledge the workplace is hardly the place for this, but I was hoping we could schedule a time to talk, perhaps privately,” the only sign that the other woman is nervous is the way her eyebrows twitch as she fights to keep them from furrowing, “at my home, or even yours if you prefer.”

The ringing in her ears gets louder as she tries to imagine stepping foot back into that cold, looming building where she had laid on the floor for hours as a madwoman carved words into her arm. She can feel her breathing pick up pace and she actively works to slow it down, to avoid having a panic attack in front of the sister of the woman who was responsible for it all. She can hear her blood roaring in her ears, instinctively her hand comes up to cover her arm and even though her blazer is covering the mark she swears she can feel heat emanating from it through the layers. The ringing gets louder, or maybe it’s the distant sound of screaming and she can feel herself begin to spiral down, down, down-

“I don’t live there anymore,” her voice is quiet barely a whisper, but laced with anger, “I couldn’t, after the war. It was difficult, to say the least, to live in a place that had been violated by _him._ ” 

She holds her breath, her heart pounding and brain racing to catch up.

“And of course, once I signed the papers that declared me officially unmarried, the wards around the house no longer recognized me. I couldn’t go back even if I had a desire to.”

Her eyes rove over the other woman’s face, relieved to find sympathy in the clear blue eyes that look back at her. Blue like the sky on a clear sunny day, like the ocean off the coast of a picturesque island in the sun. 

She breathes deeply.

“Okay.”

~”~

She’s clutching the paper in her hand that had arrived as in interdepartmental memo to her office. It has the address written down of the home she now finds herself standing outside of. It’s a townhouse and not another manor as she had thought it would be, but what surprises her even more is the fact that it’s located in Muggle London. In the posh part of town, of course.

The gate is closed but even from the pavement she can feel the magic radiating off it, mostly protective wards but there's a few there that lay under the surface that she can't quite make out. Shakily, she makes her way up the walk, her knuckles quickly rapping on the door in three consecutive knocks. She isn’t left waiting for long before a much more relaxed Narcissa Black opens the door. She wears high waisted trousers with a turtleneck tucked into them, the sleeves pushed up to her elbows, with a pair of shiny dragonhide boots, but the part that jars her most is her hair that is piled on top of her head in a messy bun, strands hanging around her face in the picture perfect representation of controlled chaos. 

“Oh, Miss Granger.” Her blue eyes widen for a fraction of a second. 

“I’m not too early, am I?” She looks down at the watch on her wrist only to find she is in fact fifteen minutes early. She cringes outwardly.

“Not to worry, now you can help prepare dinner,” She flashes a smile before stepping aside to open the door letting a wave of warmth, the sound of music playing softly and the smell of something absolutely delicious flood out to her on the brick steps, “That is, if you don’t mind helping.”

They’re standing at the stove together, _a Muggle stove_ , stirring vegetables in a pan, carefully adding more olive oil as Narcissa deems it fit to add more. They don’t talk much at first, at least until Hermione can’t help but let her curiosity get the better of her and asks when Narcissa had learned to cook.

“I went to Spain for a summer after Hogwarts, Lucius and I were already engaged by then, but I wanted to travel at least a little bit before I got married.” She watches as Narcissa seems to get lost in the memories, her hand that held a wooden spatula in it slowed, almost stopping.

“I fell in love there,” Hermione raises an eyebrow at that and Narcissa lets out a small laugh, “Not in that way, please. I had a reputation to maintain. I fell in love with the culture, the language, the music, the architecture…”

She sighs, and Hermione can’t help but tease her, “Yes, well I’m sure that handsome man you met while you were there certainly helped.”

A light dusting of pink blooms on Narcissa’s cheeks and she lets out a small laugh, before looking intently down at the veggies in her pan, then at the ones in Hermione’s own pan. She turns the burners off and moves to mix the eggplant and zucchini they had been attending to, into the same bowl where all the other vegetables she had finished cooking sat in. She reaches for the spices she had previously set out on the counter and prepares to mix them in too.

“If you must know,” she measures out rosemary, and disperses it over the perfectly browned vegetables, “There was someone.” She watches Narcissa’s hands as she measures out and pours the rest of the spices in, waiting patiently as she leans against the counter on the other side of the stovetop. 

“ _Her_ name was Juliana.” 

Her mind blanks, “Oh, but what about-”

“Lucius?” Naricissa raises an eyebrow and she nods, confusion easily readable on her face, “Yes, well. We all do what needs to be done, especially when your parents discover your secret and forcefully remove you from the situation.”

She peers down at the pan that still sits on the stove, turning it to watch the leftover oil as it slides around. Whatever she sees must be satisfactory because she sets it down, turns the burner back on and adds the garlic she had diced earlier in the evening.

Hermione doesn’t know what to say, so she opens her mouth and a lame sounding, “ _I’m sorry_ ,” comes out. Narcissa waves her off as she adds tomatoes to the now sizzling pan. 

“I wouldn’t change it. In the end I was given Draco, and I wouldn’t replace being his mother for anything.” Narcissa looks up at her, the adoration she feels for her son seemingly pouring from her. Hermione mentally shakes herself, she had completely forgotten in such a short amount of time that this was the same woman who had birthed a son. Who had been married. Who had lived in a house with a madman for over a year. 

Quickly, in an effort to distract herself before she can spiral she asks, “Is that why we’re listening to this?” She had been wondering why since she had come in why Narcissa had chosen this particular music as the soundtrack for the night, it was indisputably beautiful music, but still. It had confused her.

Narcissa hums, “Yes, Chavela Vargas is a favorite of mine.” She holds the bowl with the mixed vegetables over the hot pan and motions for Hermione to use the spatula and shift them from bowl to pan. 

“And is what we’re making tonight a recipe you learned while you were there?”

“Yes, it was the first thing I learned, _pisto con huevos._ It’s essentially a Spanish version of-”

“Ratatouille, right? All the vegetables makes sense now.” 

Narcissa smiles at her and Hermione feels herself smiling back.

~”~

Dinner passes quietly and they talk about inconsequential topics: Hermione’s work as a counselor for the D.M.L.E., Narcissa’s work at the Department of mysteries - or at least the parts she can discuss, Kingsley’s progress as the new Minister in a post-war climate, the new motion that was being pushed to the Wizengamot proposing a reintroduction of the Tri-Wizard cup with obvious repairs to the outdated tournament, the tedious process of rebuilding a community by rooting out and replacing the old laws that were so obviously pro-pureblood and how that affected said community. Light topics, really.

Narcissa asks her about Ronald, and how long they’ve been together. She answers that they’ve been together for five years this coming October, and when she asks if there’s a proposal on the horizon Hermione can’t help the loud and abrupt laugh that escapes. She laughs longer than is probably deemed polite, but as she’s gasping for air and wiping away the single tear that had leaked from her eye, she’s glad to see amusement on Narcissa’s face. 

“I’ll take that as no, then?” She drawls.

“No, definitely not, or at least I hope not. I’m in no way ready to settle down, I’ve only just started my career, I can’t start a family right now.” She feels almost guilty for saying that, when only just an hour ago Narcissa had confessed that she hadn’t had much of a chance to experience being young before she was married. 

“I understand. It’s one of the reasons why I pushed for Draco to not be contractually obligated to marry some girl. It’s what I wish had been done for me. So I say, if you aren’t ready, don’t do it.”

Hermione watches as the other woman lifts the glass of wine she had been sipping from all night to her lips, finishing off the last bit that remained, her lipstick leaving a perfect imprint. She pulls at the collar at her sweater when it suddenly becomes stifling hot in the room, and she’s so distracted by the heat that dances up her neck that she misses the shift in mood of the other woman.

“As much as I’ve enjoyed the night so far, I fear I must put a damper on it.” Her voice is quiet and more serious than Hermione has heard all night. _It’s fascinating to watch Narcissa think_ , she thinks to herself. Hermione considers herself fairly good at reading people, at picking up on the idiosyncrasies that make each person unique, and in the short time she’s been in Narcissa’s presence she’s noticed a handful of them. 

A small wrinkle forms between her brows while she’s deep in thought, though only if she’s so deep in thought that she seems to forget where she is and doesn’t immediately cover the thoughts by a mask of indifference. She has several different smiles, one smirk that she uses mainly while she’s teasing, a polite smile that she had used earlier in her office while she spoke, a half smile that she let out only when she was actively trying to suppress her real one, and a full bodied smile that caused small wrinkles to form at the corners of her eyes and her sharp features to soften. That one was her favorite so far. 

Narcissa felt more comfortable at home, though Hermione could hardly fault her at that. She could tell mostly in the loose posture she held in her own kitchen as opposed to the stiff and rigid one she held in the Ministry. 

The only mannerism that Hermione had yet to pick up on, that she honestly wasn’t surprised to find an absence of, was any kind of fidgeting. She hadn’t so much as run a finger over one of the many rings that adorned her fingers. 

Which is why seeing her rub her thumb and forefinger together in a circular pattern immediately draws her attention and causes her to sober herself and sit up straight in an effort to display her attentiveness to the blonde sitting across from her. 

“I asked you here tonight to apologize. I had meant to apologize much sooner than this, but I suppose the task was too daunting and we were all too fresh from the war.”

Hermione doesn’t respond, she doesn’t think she’s really meant to right now.

Narcissa’s eyes look up into hers, filled with emotion, imploring her to listen, “I am so terribly sorry for everything I partook in during the war, I am so incredibly sorry for what you had to endure at the hands of my family for the better part of a decade. I regret every day, that afternoon when you and your friends were brought to Malfoy Manor, that I did nothing to stop it. I regret not doing something sooner to put a stop to everything. I regret not apologizing before now.” She stopped to take a deep breath, to stop the wavering tone in her voice.

“I know that no amount of apologies will ever be good enough, will ever make up for the pain you suffered and continue to suffer to this day, but I sincerely hope that you’ll allow me the chance to repay you, in any way I can for as long as you’ll allow.” 

Her eyes are neverending pools of blue that shimmer as they rapidly flit between her own misty brown ones and she feels something in her chest break and lift from inside her, making her feel lighter than she has in quite some time.

She swallows past the lump that had formed in her throat at some point, “I forgive you.”

~”~

Their dinners continue after that, and much to Ron’s chagrin they even begin to eat their lunches together several times a week, and during a rather heated argument they have Ron demands to know what makes Narcissa so much more entertaining than her own boyfriend and she almost wants to yell back that Narcissa Black is the most interesting person she’s ever met and that everything she does and says interests her. Instead she merely replies that they talk about literature, which they do. That they talk about politics, that one of them is always playing devil’s advocate, which they do. That they _never_ talk about Quidditch because neither of them is interested in such a barbaric sport, though Narcissa always supported Draco and his love of it. 

Their argument never officially ends, it just gets swept under the rug along with the rest of them when he storms out of her apartment and slams the door. 

It isn’t long before Draco’s birthday rolls around, and while she isn’t the greatest of friends with him, he invites her. And Harry, but not Ron, understandably. 

He holds the party at Narcissa’s home, seeing as how she has the larger home of the two, and it’s a small and intimate affair with only a handful of people invited. She tries to stick beside Harry for most of the night, being that he’s the only other Gryffindor in a room full of Slytherins, but when he gets roped into a conversation about the merits of using a certain type of racing broom over another with Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini, she looks around the room for a different distraction. In a small group stand Pansy Parkinson and the two Greengrass sisters, one of whom is dating Draco, but she feels bad for not quite remembering. Draco is off in a corner talking intently to a co-worker of his - Matthew? Mason? Matthias?

Out of her peripheral vision she sees blonde hair and a deep burgundy skirt disappear around a doorway that leads to the kitchen. Excusing herself from the group of boys, who hardly acknowledge her leaving, she makes her way to the kitchen with her tumblr of whiskey in hand.

She walks in to find Narcissa arranging mini tarts on a tiered tray, her blonde hair standing out immensely against the black long sleeved blouse that she’s wearing with the long skirt she had seen disappear around the corner. It hits her now, like it so often does when she catches Narcissa in these candid moments, how beautiful of a person she is.

She doesn’t mean to scare her when she talks, but seeing Narcissa Black jump infinitesimally when Hermione reassures her that they look perfect the way they are and to stop fussing with them, is surprisingly the best thing she’s seen all night. She can’t help the loud laugh that she lets out, something that seems to be happening more and more often around her blonde friend. 

Narcissa turns to look at her with a glare every bit as biting as a niffler, “Didn’t your mother teach you that it’s rude to sneak up on a lady?”

“No, though she did teach me to always borrow money from a pessimist.” Hermione can’t help the grin that spreads across her face. They play this game often, where one of them will quote an author nonchalantly and wait for the other to guess who had said it, and seeing as how Narcissa had just finished _The Picture of Dorain Gray_ , it seems only fitting that she throw an Oscar Wilde quote at her. 

Narcissa walks up to her, a playful smile on her face as she takes the tumblr from Hermione’s hand, their fingers briefly brushing, “Are you sure Oscar Wilde didn’t teach you that? Your mother sounds like far too optimistic of a person to suggest something so cynical.” She takes a sip of the firewhiskey inside, her lips lining almost perfectly with the mark Hermione’s own lipstick had left and her eyes never leaving Hermione’s as she takes a sip. The kitchen grows hotter and her mouth gets dry so she resolves to drink water from there on out, telling Narcissa to keep the glass when she tries to offer it back. 

They’re standing with their faces only a handful of inches apart when Draco walks into the kitchen with a question about helping bring food to the table, when he comes to an abrupt stop at seeing them there. Hermione takes a quick step back, immediately missing the closeness of her friend when she does. Draco has a smirk on his face, though she can’t for the life of her figure out why.

During dinner she sits to the left of Narcissa, and Harry sits to hers, followed by Theo (who insisted he be called Theo and not Theodore), Blaise Zabini, Draco’s co-worker (Matty? Nathan?), Draco, Astoria Greengrass (the brunette and younger sibling of the two, and the one Draco was currently making eyes at), Daphne Greengrass and last but not least Pansy Parkinson (who had apologized profusely to Harry after avoiding him for most of the night) finished the circle by sitting to the right of Narcissa. At some point during dinner, Narcissa’s hand had been placed low on her thigh, almost right above her knee, and she had not realized how comforting of a weight it was until Narcissa had lifted her hand to snap her fingers to clear the dishes. 

She glanced over to watch as Narcissa snapped her fingers again, watching in awe as the tiered tray of tarts she had been fussing over materialised before them in an impressive show of wandless magic. Watching Nacissa as she was, it was hard to miss that smirk Pansy wore that looked almost identical to the one Draco had worn earlier in the kitchen. She quietly huffed in annoyance, sitting back in her chair and feeling a pair of green eyes from her left and a pair of blue eyes from her right glance at her in concern. Something she hated, ever since she had been young, was the feeling that there was a joke going on around her that she had not been let in on. It was a childish insecurity, one she had worked hard to - mostly - grow out of, but if one more person smirked at her in that trademark Slytherin way, she’d lose it. 

Honestly, you’d think there was some kind of training course for first year Slytherin’s where they were taught how to smirk.

A warm weight returned to her knee, followed by the soothing feeling of a thumb slowly moving in a comforting semi-circle. She felt the tension bleed out of her, just in time for her to enjoy the tartlet that was passed her way. Her eyes lit up at the small piece of pear that was placed on top,

“Oh, that looks delicious!”

Narcissa hummed beside her, leaning over to speak, “I had a honey tart made for you, the baker suggested it be topped with pear. I hope you like it.”

Hermione beamed up at the woman, “That’s my favorite. Thank you, Narcissa.”

Later as they all sat around the sitting room sipping on drinks and just generally enjoying each other’s company she looked around the room and meet the dark eyes of Theo who stared straight back at her, a more subtle version of the smirk that she had been on the receiving end of all night playing on his face. His arm was thrown over the couch behind Harry’s shoulders, his body turned almost into his side all the while Harry’s hand rested on the jean clad knee of Theo Nott. She raised an eyebrow at him, a small smirk of her own on her lips.

One he returned with a raise of his own brow as he looked at her curiously. 

She took stock of her position - her back pressed against the couch next to Narcissa’s legs while she sat on the floor, her blonde companions hand resting on her shoulder with her finger tapping out a slow beat that only she could hear. She subtly wiped at the corner of the lips thinking that she had food there still, because gods, how embarrassing would that be? Finding nothing out of the ordinary, she turned her eyes back to Theo, only to find him deep in conversation with Harry. 

How odd.

~"~

They're sitting in her office, their food spread out between the two of them so they can steal bites of the other's salad and dish, they're both quiet as they spend a few minutes decompressing from their respective days so far. This is Hermione's favorite part of the day, most times, when she gets to sit across from Narcissa and bask in the company of her. 

"So, tell me _everything_ about your day," she knows very well that the blonde can't tell her everything, but it never fails to bring a smile to her face when she asks and that's reason enough for her. Narcissa smiles at her and gives her vague details about a project she's working on for Head Unspeakable Taylers, she tells how stressed she is with some of her research as it isn't making any sense and how some runes she's reading are giving her a hard time because they aren't translating into what the text says and- 

Narcissa huffed out a breath, her face pinking from her frustration and Hermione can't help but think the blush looks very fetching on her. Hermione stops her chewing and blinks owlishly at the woman in front of her, watching as she shakes her head and mutters to herself. Hermione mutters something about how she's sure Narcissa will figure it out but she finds herself distracted. It isn't the first time she's had thoughts of Narcissa being beautiful, it's undeniable that she's a beautiful woman. She's thought it several dozen times before but there's something about the way the nerves in her stomach riot when she thinks it this time that makes her pause, makes her nearly choke on the air that she’s desperately sucking down.

“How was your day today?” Narcissa’s head is tilted with an easy smile on her face as she glances up at her. Hermione decides to shove down whatever it was that had risen in her and examine it at a different time when the object of said feelings was no longer in front of her.

She opens her mouth to begin ranting about the head of the Department of Magical Creatures when her door is shoved open hard enough that it bangs against the wall behind it.

“Hermione I- _oh._ ” Ron is there, having not knocked on her door before entering, with a single rose in his hand. Immediately she feels the tension in the room rise, because despite months of her friendship with Narcissa he can’t seem to say a single nice word about her. Across from her Narcissa tenses and her usual mask of cold indifference is back up, her warm blue eyes look cold and harsh and some wicked part of her whispers that she still looks absolutely beautiful.

“What is _she_ doing here?” Ron’s arms have folded themselves across his broad chest and his face twists into a disapproving scowl.

Desperately she tries to control the blush that had sprung up at her salacious thoughts, “Don’t be rude, she was invited to have lunch with me.”  
  


“Yeah, but does your office door have to be closed? People talk y’know.” His voice sounds like more of that of a petulant child than a man in his mid-twenties, and it’s something she can’t quite stand.

“Honestly Ronald, we’re friends! People will talk no matter whom I’m friends with I don’t see why I should care now.”

Narcissa moves to slowly pack up her lunch and before she can say any more to Ron she turns to address the older witch, “I’m sorry, I hadn’t intended for this lunch to go badly.”

“It’s quite alright, I’ll owl you later.”

“You think it's gone badly because I wanted to surprise you with a flower and take you out to lunch since I’ve hardly seen you lately?” 

“Honestly Ronald, you could have owled me to see if I had plans.” 

“I hate it when you call me Ronald.”

She sends an apologetic glance at Narcissa before replying to what she thinks she wasn’t meant to have heard, “And I hate roses, so I figure we’re about even.”

After a screaming match that she’s sure will have her whole department talking for months, she slammed her door and sat with her head between her arms that she crossed over her desk. It’s impossible for her to guess how much time has passed, the only indication being the slowly moving shadows across the floor and the eventual knock that she knows instinctively is Harry coming to check on her. She doesn’t answer, but the opening and soft closing of her door alerts her to the fact that he had come in anyway. She hears him sit in the open chair. The one Narcissa had occupied not too long ago.

“So… you and Ron?” 

She lifts her head and lets out a bitter little laugh, “I’d rather not talk about it if it’s all the same to you.” She realizes she must look a fright when a look a great concern passes over his features. She sniffles and scrambles to throw her hair up in a bun or something to keep it from sticking to her face from the tears she hadn’t even realized she had cried. With her hair pulled up and away from her face, she reaches for the tissue that Harry had been so kind as to offer her.

“You know, I-”

“Harry please,” she’s tired and emotionally drained and all she wants to do is forget it had even happened, “I just want to forget about it.”

He nods, though she can tell there’s something he’s dying to say to her. Instead he turns his head to look out the small window to the right, in the process revealing the side of his neck that his Auror robes don’t quite cover, a small blue bruise that almost looks like-

“Harry James Potter, is that a hickey?” Her voice is more accusatory than she had meant for it to sound and try as she might, she can’t keep the severe look on her face as her best friends face turns bright red and he stammers for some excuse.

She thinks back to the night of Draco’s party, and the handful of times since then that Harry has said he was spending time with Theo and it seems very obvious to her now who is responsible for the hickey on his neck.

She decides to take pity on him, “Is he at least a good kisser?  
  


The mumbled reply she gets claiming that they’re just friends is answer enough for her.

Already she feels her spirits rising again and in hopes of communicating her desire to not be alone for awhile without being blunt, she invites Harry over for dinner and a movie at her flat - pleased when he agrees but less pleased when he adds that he will only go if they can watch, ‘ _that one movie with the cop and that guy that looks an awful like Snape._ ’ Reluctantly she agrees and not because she secretly enjoys the movie, because she _doesn’t_ , but because Harry was doing a favor for her.

As she’s getting ready to lock up her office they spot a crumbled rose just outside her door, she sighs before picking it up and dumping it in the rubbish bin by one of the desks as they make their way towards the lifts.

“He got you a rose?” He asks incredulously.

She hums quietly in lieu of a real answer.

They stand shoulder as they wait for the lift to rise, “But you hate roses.”

“I know.”

~”~

“I’m surprised you haven’t asked yet.” Narcissa says from behind the newspaper she’s holding in front of her face as they eat brunch on her balcony. The iron chairs and glass topped table are cold to the touch but the warming charm Narcissa had put up has been holding up against the colder temperature, the balcony doors thrown open letting the voice of Gigliola Cinquetti reach them where they sat. She glances up from the biscuit she had been absently picking at, as impolite as she knows it is to play with food. 

“Asked about what?” 

Narcissa folds the paper over with a quick flick of her index fingers, looking at her with a smile on her face, “About everything, of course.”

Hermione nods absently, of course she had been wondering about the peculiar living arrangements of her previously biased friend but she had decided, perhaps even after that first dinner, that the specifics hadn’t mattered to her, that the only thing she really cared about was the _who_ not the _how_ or _why_ she had changed. 

She wipes her finger on the napkin that rested on her lap, “I suppose at first I was, but in the end I’m just glad to have gotten to known this version of you.” 

Affection immediately washes over Narcissa’s face, a light shade of pink covering her cheeks, “I’m glad it’s this version of me you have gotten to know as well, I know for a fact that the past versions of myself would have been sorely missing out on the opportunity to enjoy your company.”

Hermione blushes in turn. They’ve been friends for just shy of eight months now, but she already can’t picture what her life would have been like if Narcissa hadn’t approached her that day. They certainly wouldn’t be filled with numerous lunches and dinners, with such stimulating conversations that she thought about for hours later purely because what had been said was interesting and not because she liked to think about the way Narcissa’s lips looked as she formed words. 

“Would you like to know?” She folded the newspaper and crossed one ankle over her knee, a move that Hermione knew exhibited just how comfortable Narcissa was around her to ignore decades of manner lessons to sit like that. She hangs on to every word as Narcissa speaks.

It had taken months of research to find a way to break the blood bond between herself and Lucius, and even longer to convince the Wizengamot that the first divorce the wizarding community had seen in 20 years was completely sound in reasoning. Her husband was locked away in Azkaban for life, with no chance at parole. After many private meetings they had finally granted it and in the process of breaking her marriage and the blood bond she had lost access to Malfoy Manor. Fortunately, it was a side effect she had anticipated and had moved all her belongings into the abandoned Black Manor, but living there for too long had started to dredge up old memories, some of which were good, but most of them not. 

She began wandering around Muggle London, at first glad for the reprieve it brought her from being looked at as a martyr in the wizarding community but slowly she found herself enjoying more and more aspects of the culture.

She was enraptured by the museums. 

Eventually she contacted Gringott’s about linking a Muggle banking account to the Black family vaults and she began to really delve. Muggle fashion was her favorite part, while she still found Wizarding robes to be acceptable she found that being able to wear trousers, if she so chose to, was oddly freeing. 

When she had started looking for a home Gringott’s had connected her with a realtor that they recommended, a Squib with a brother who was a wizard who would be able to help with the paperwork and appropriate charms around her future home.

Here she was six years after the War, sitting in a pair of trousers and a button up shirt that Hermione found to be quite distracting on her, in her townhouse situated right in the middle of London, eating brunch with a muggleborn.

She smiled at Narcissa enjoying the way her eyes lit up as she talked about the various museums she had visited and how she’d love to bring her someday, she watched in awe as Narcissa talked animatedly about fashion and designers that Hermione had never heard of.

She watched as Narcissa unbuttoned the cuffs of her shirt, only to roll them up as she began to gather their dishes. She watched as Narcissa walked inside, her heels clicking against the floor as she went, admiring the well made trousers.

Greedily, she took a drink from the teacup that remained in front of her when she suddenly found her mouth _very_ dry.

Later that night as she sat on her couch watching a movie with Ron, she nudged him with her foot that was pressed against the outside of his thigh with the way she had thrown herself on the couch next to him.

He made a sound of acknowledgment, turning his head only slightly so as to not lose sight of the tele. 

“Have you ever thought of wearing button up shirts more?”

He scoffed lightly, “I’m not really a button up shirt kind of guy ‘Mione, you know that.”

She nodded, mostly to herself seeing as how Ron still hadn’t turned to look at her.

“Besides,” the hand that rested on her leg gave her a quick squeeze, “it would get completely ruined if I wore it to work at the joke shop.” 

“Yes, I suppose it would.”

~”~

They’re fighting again, only this time it’s different. This time there’s hurtful words and accusations thrown around by both them, they’re pointing fingers at each other and she’s screaming loud enough that she’s sure her neighbors can hear but everything goes deadly silent when Ron yells, 

“ _I don’t think I even love you anymore!”_

There’s a timid knock on her apartment door before she can formulate an answer. She sets her jaw, willing herself not to cry, not now, not before all their friends come for her birthday party. 

"Hermione, I-" He reaches out to her but she backs away from him, hands balled into fists at her sides.

"I'm going to go finish getting ready, and you're going to answer the door and we're going to talk about this later."

"You can't be serious Hermione, what am I supposed to do with everyone?"

"I don't know Ronald," she throws over her shoulder as she stomps towards her room, parroting his words from their fight, "you're not the one ' _with a stick up your arse'_ so I'm confident you'll figure it out!"

She's pacing at the edge of her bed, fuming even as she can hear the sounds of her friends laughing from the living room. She's been locked in her room for the past fifteen minutes and yet she can't seem to get over her anger. 

A quiet call of her name from the door announces Harry's presence. With a flick of her hand she unlocks it and Harry snakes in between the small gap, standing awkwardly as she paces without looking at him. 

“So,” he carries out the word to fill the silence between them.

She stops to look at him, “I don’t think I can do this Harry.” Her voice is raw and cracks with emotion, and after all the self control it took to not cry, with one look at her best friend she can’t help but let out a choked sob. She’s clenching her teeth and staring at him across the room one second, the next his arms are around her and he’s pulling her into his embrace. 

“He’s one of my best friends Harry, what if we can’t go back?” Her fists twist into the material of his sweater as she cries into his shoulder.

“Ron loves you Hermione, and he always will either as a boyfriend or a best friend.” Harry’s words are whispered into her hair. There’s some part of her that knows, that has always known that about Ron, about how unfailingly loyal he can be. There’s a part of her that also knows that they’ve both been unhappy for so long, that knows what the right thing to do is. She sniffles before letting go and pulling away from him, wiping at the tears on her face with her finger.

“Thank you, Harry.”

“Of course. You know I’d do anything for you.” He reaches a hand out to squeeze her shoulder before turning for the door,

“See you in fifteen?”

She gave a small laugh, “Five.”

He glares at her through his glasses, “Ten, and if you’re out there before that I’ll drag you back in here myself.” 

She cleans herself up and reapplies her scant amount of makeup before making her way to the living room with her friends. She grows excited when Draco enters, only to be let down when his head of blonde hair is the only one to enter. She spends a majority of her time watching the door for another blonde.

She squeals and runs to hug Ginny when she walks in, her hair still wet from a shower after practice with the Holyhead Harpies. She’d been on tour for what seemed like ages, but the Harpies were back in London for the time being at least, between games. She dragged her friend around to introduce her - properly - to the new friends she’s made since she was away. Ginny, who had been completely supportive of abolishing old prejudices and starting over shook each and everyone of their hands. Blaise, ever the dashing man, kissed the back of her hand and remarked on how she ‘ _practically glowed’_ after her practice. She introduced her to Theo, who was all but connected to Harry at the hip and with a significant glance between the two girls Ginny conceded to not ask questions. Draco, Astoria and Daphne all introduced themselves and as much as Hermione was afraid that things would go horribly wrong, she was very pleased to see that they were not.

“Where’s Pansy?” She asked avoiding the question she really wants to know the answer to.

A look is shared between the Slytherin’s before Blaise answers, a deceptively easy smile on his lips, “She’ll be here.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, but was soon being pulled into a riveting conversation with Ginny about Theo and Harry that she failed to notice when Pansy finally walked in with a wary looking Narcissa trailing behind her, only realizing when Ginny’s mouth dropped open in surprise,

“Hermione, why is Narcissa Malfoy walking through your door?”

Hermione whipped her head around so fast she was sure she was going to be suffering from whiplash, but when brown eyes met blue across the room the pain she might suffer from being over eager didn’t seem to matter. Completely forgetting that she had been talking to Ginny, she made her way over to her blonde friend admiring the way her red velvet dress fell around her, a slim gold belt tied around her waist. 

“You’re wearing Gryffindor colors you know.”

Narcissa eyes drifted down her person before meeting hers again, “You’re wearing Slytherin colors you know.” Hermione glanced down to the forest green skirt and black long sleeve she wore.

“I suppose I am.” She let out a slight laugh before moving to take the blonde’s jacket she had thrown over her arm.

She successfully avoided Ronald for most of the night, spending it in the company of Narcissa instead, purely because the Blonde was in unknown territory and surrounded by more Gryffindors than Hermione was sure she had ever been before. Narcissa’s hand was hooked on her elbow, Hermione taking up the job as escort, not that she minded in the least. She made eye contact with Ginny several times throughout the night, the redhead desperately trying to grab her attention, to pull her way and demand answers no doubt, but she ignored them- not quite ready to face them. 

Seamus brought out a cake, and being the most oblivious person she had ever met (though she loved him to bits), insisted that Ron stand beside Hermione so Dean could use his new camera to take photos while she blew out her candles, and despite the stiffness of both their postures and lack of enthusiasm when he told them to smile, he continued. They only thing that made the whole moment worth any of the trouble of it all, was the understanding smile of Narcissa who stood at the other end of the table, directly in her line of sight. 

She blushed at the attention she garnered from her friends as they sang, she was sure, and not because she liked the feeling of being the sole receiver of Narcissa’s attention even while they were in a crowded room.

After closing the door behind Dean as he stumbled away with Seamus and a rushed promise to Ginny to explain what was going on, she turned to face Ron who stood with his hands in his pockets and toe kicking the carpet. They stood staring, willing the other to speak first. 

“I shouldn't've-”

“I’m sorry I-”

They both stopped and she motioned for Ron to go first.

“I shouldn’t have said what I did. I was angry and I didn’t mean it.” Ron had grown a lot in the six years since the war, while he was still easy to anger he had a better control of his emotions than he had while they were in school so she knew that despite saying that he hadn’t meant it, there was still some part of him that _had_.

She swallowed, almost afraid to ask, “Did you mean what you said about how you might not love me anymore?”

She watched as his emotions warred on across his face, sadness, anger, worry…

“I’ll always love you ‘Mione, but I think I… I don’t think I’m _in love_ with you.” His shoulders slumped and he frowned.

Several emotions washed over her, the very same that had passed across his face but the one that surprised her the most was the intense feeling of relief she felt at hearing his words.

“I don’t think I’m in love with you either.” She whispered.

He let out a bitter laugh and fell onto the couch, throwing his head back and covering his eyes before letting out a loud frustrated groan, “When did we get so _fucked_ Hermione?”

If she was being honest, she didn’t know, it seemed as if it had been almost overnight in some ways, but in others it seemed like something that had been developing slowly for months. She tried to think of the last time she had said those three words to him, the last time they had kissed, the last time they had even _touched_ each other. Her mind came up blank.

“We’ll always be best friends.” She replied, in lieu of an answer. She wasn’t quite sure she could say the answer out loud without breaking down. He only nodded and they sat in silence and despite the situation it felt comfortable, like sitting with a friend and not with your now ex-boyfriend. 

“Was it my fault?” His eyes were trained on the ceiling, staring at the fan as it slowly turned. 

“I think we’re both to blame.” He accepted her answer with another silent nod.

She chewed on her lip, her curiosity burning, “Is there someone else?”

She felt him tense beside her.

“There’s a… girl. We’re just friends, but I think I might fancy her.” His head lolled to the side to look at her, a smile on his face that reminded her of the Ron she knew when they had first gotten together. She smiled at him, a slightly sadder one than his, but a smile nonetheless.

“Was there,” he cleared his throat nervously, “Was there someone else for you?”

Unbidden, images of flowing blonde hair, blue eyes and pale hands resting on her thighs filled her mind. She hesitated before answering, “N-no.”

He looked at her in a way that made her feel exposed and she turned away, chewing on her lip. Really, she knew, that was answer in and of itself. 

**Author's Note:**

> I have plans to continue this, but for right now, I think I like the way it ends. Let me know what you guys think! Come talk to me on tumblr if you want, I'm on there as hellouniquecollectionstranger


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